NOVEL WEB Chapter 7: The Hunter’s Warning
The ruined cathedral felt smaller than it had an hour ago.
Candle-smoke still drifted in tired spirals around the broken pillars; wax pooled like melted bone across the altar stones. Somewhere up in the nave, a sheet of rusted tin flapped against shattered roof beams—tap-tap-tap, the heartbeat of a building too stubborn to collapse.
Seraphina stood at the edge of the crypt stairwell, face half-lit by the flickering candles she'd relit after our fight with the hunter. She kept her wounded arm tucked beneath her cloak, but I could smell the faint iron sting of burned flesh. Silver scars don't heal the way normal wounds do, even for a vampire.
I wanted to step closer, to check the wound again—yet every time I moved, shards of uncertainty scraped along my ribs. My hand still tingled from that impossible flare of power. *Moonfire,* the hunter had called it, but it felt more like guilt crystallized into light.
She broke the silence first.
> "You should have run."
"I'm tired of running," I said. "Besides… it worked. He's gone."
My voice sounded steadier than I felt.
Seraphina's eyes flicked to the ceiling, as if she could see straight through the cracked stones to the blood-red moon beyond.
> "Gone only means regrouping," she murmured. "Hunters never retreat alone. He'll bring others."
I swallowed. "Because of me?"
"Because of the curse," she corrected gently, though her gaze lingered on my neck—on the bite that tethered us. "You carry echoes of my blood now. The Order of Nocturnum hunts anything touched by 'crimson corruption.'"
She sounded as if she hated herself for saying it.
---
### The Whispering Walls
I wandered toward the nearest sarcophagus and traced the eroded crest carved into its lid—a winged serpent devouring its own tail. Cold dust coated my fingertips.
"You told me these walls keep the last words of everyone you've… drunk."
The words tasted bitter leaving my mouth. "Are they still talking?"
Seraphina closed her eyes. For a heartbeat I thought she might collapse beneath imaginary weight; instead she straightened, listening.
A low hush threaded through the crypt—soft, overlapping voices, like dozens of people chanting in different languages. My skin prickled. One whisper rose above the others, clearer than wind:
> *"Forgive her… she was lonely…"*
Seraphina's shoulders trembled. When her lashes lifted again, crimson flecks shimmered like dying embers.
> "They know I'm trying to protect you," she said, voice cracking. "And they know I might fail."
I stepped forward, ignoring the static itch in my palms. "Then we protect each other."
Something changed in her eyes—a fragile, hopeful brightness that hadn't been there before. But hope can be a dangerous promise.
---
### Flashback Flame
A memory flickered behind my own eyes—half dream, half violence: the hunter's crossbow bolt streaking toward me in the dark; the instinctive raise of my hand; brilliant violet-white flame swatting metal into sparks. I should have been terrified. Instead, a strange exhilaration had surged through my veins: *I saved her.* The idea echoed louder than fear.
"Seraphina," I whispered, "what exactly did I do back there?"
She hesitated, then lifted her cloak, revealing a small leather tome bound with silver threads. She opened it carefully; inside, pressed leaves the color of midnight unfolded like brittle wings.
> "This is the Grimoire of Eclipsed Blood. It records every anomaly tied to the crimson curse."
> She brushed a page where my name now glowed in fresh ink—*REN*—followed by archaic runes swirling like smoke.
> "Your blood reacted to mine," she continued. "Moonfire is a myth—pure lunar energy that can erase silver corruption. But that power only awakens in someone chosen by both the moon… and a vampire's heart."
"My heart?" I echoed.
She nodded, cheeks flushing the faintest pink. "A bond deeper than a bite."
I stared at the glowing letters until they dimmed. *Chosen by the moon and a vampire's heart.* The thought should have been ludicrous—yet for the first time in years, the emptiness in my chest buzzed with something undeniably alive.
---
### The Hunter's Council
A thunderclap reverberated overhead—no, not thunder. A door. Heavy. Wood splintering. Boots clattering across the nave floor.
Seraphina's head snapped up. Candle flames bent sideways in a sudden draft.
> "They're here," she whispered.
We extinguished the candles, plunging the crypt into dim scarlet light leaking through cracks in the ceiling. Above, muffled voices barked orders—the hunter's gravel growl among them, joined by a woman's sharper command.
"Fan out. Silver bolts on my mark. We take them before dawn or drag their ashes into it."
Seraphina leaned close. Her breath brushed my cheek, chilly but comforting.
> "The catacombs below connect to the riverbank. Follow me."
We slipped through the iron gate behind the altar, down a narrow tunnel carved with runes that pulsed faintly at our passing. The air grew damp, smelling of old water and older bones.
---
### The Warning
Halfway down the passage a tremor rolled through the stone. Dust rained from the ceiling. I looked back—faint lantern glow flickered at the crypt entrance. The hunters had reached the stairs.
Seraphina quickened her pace, but I tugged her cloak.
"Wait—what about the echoes? Can they warn us which path is safe?"
She shook her head. "These tunnels are older than the voices. They won't help down here."
Another quake jolted the ground. A scream echoed—one of the hunters? Seraphina's eyes widened.
> "They're collapsing the entrance. Trapping us."
We dashed forward, turning corners blindly until we reached a circular chamber where three tunnels diverged like spokes. Water dripped from stalactites, pooling around mosaic tiles depicting a lunar eclipse. The whispers returned—not from the walls, but from *within* the stone floor:
> *"Left is ruin… middle is fire… right is sorrow…"*
Seraphina's breath hitched. "Their dying memories… they're guiding us."
She grabbed my hand, sprinted right. The moment we crossed the threshold, a deafening boom sealed the tunnels behind. Heat licked my back—middle tunnel had exploded. Collapsed ruin sealed the left.
We stumbled into the darkness until the roar faded. When we finally stopped, I realized Seraphina was trembling—not from fear, but exhaustion. Silver burns still sizzled along her arm.
I guided her against the wall, pressing my scarf to the wound despite the sizzling heat.
> "You're hurt more than you said," I muttered, voice shaking. "Why didn't you heal?"
"Silver dipped in holy oil," she replied through clenched teeth. "Takes longer."
I tore a strip from my sleeve, binding the gash. Moonfire flickered instinctively across my fingertips, coaxing the burn to seal. She gasped—pain or relief, I couldn't tell.
When it was done, she looked up at me, eyes wide with something deeper than gratitude.
> "You risked everything for me. Why?"
I opened my mouth—and nothing came out. Because you made me feel alive? Because I'm tired of being alone? Because when you said my name, I realized no one else ever spoke it like a promise?
Instead, I whispered, "Because you called me *Ren*. Not monster. Not curse. Just… Ren."
She reached up, fingertips grazing my cheek—a touch like snow thawing under sunrise.
> "Then let me warn you, Ren. Loving someone like me leads only to blood."
I smiled sadly. "I bled the night we met. I survived. Maybe love can survive too."
Her eyes glistened. Not tears—moonlight catching on hope. For one fragile heartbeat, the tunneled darkness felt warm.
Then a voice bellowed from the corridor behind us:
> "Found them!"
A silver flare lit the passage; footsteps thundered.
Seraphina pulled away, rage flashing. "Go. I'll stall them."
I stepped in front of her. "We're not doing that again."
She hissed, fangs glinting. "Don't be heroic."
"I'm not," I said, heart hammering. "I'm stubborn."
Moonfire rippled across my hands, brighter than before—violet ripples in silver veins. Crimson reflections danced in her eyes.
> "Together, then," she whispered.
---
Cliffhanger
We turned toward the oncoming light—hunter lanterns swinging like fiery pendulums—ready to face them beneath the crumbling earth.
Somewhere above, the blood-red moon hung unwavering, as if it could already taste the violence to come.